Beloved
by Ms Arcielee
Summary: Set after the first movie. Isaac still reigns, Malachi is still his henchman, and the Outlanders were sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows. I am back! Huzzah! Rated T for some Mal/OC lovin'.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I wrote this about four years back and have unfortunately forgotten my old email address. I tried to contact but alas, nothing. Anyway, got a new penname and I decided to tune it up a tad. Sorry to those who enjoyed it all those years ago; I promise I will finish it now. An ending is in sight! Enjoy.

**—**

**Prologue:** The Outlanders were sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows as commanded. Isaac kept his reign through his connection to Him, Malachi still his enforcer, more passive and not as mutinous. The continual sacrifices were stopped abruptly when Rachel brought to their attention their society was dwindling. Isaac spent six days in solitude and returned with a simple command from Him, 'That when the brothers and sisters come to age, they shall find their Other Beloved and continue the lineage of the Children of the Corn.'

**Chapter I**

**I**saac watched her; his deep-seeded infatuation passed of as dedication to all of His children. The year of the Outlander's invasion, her fifteenth year, is when he truly noticed her. Curves that pressed against the seams of her simple cotton smock; her face begun to thin, her milky complexion cleared and grew rosy. He would inquire daily with Him about whom she was meant to commit fornication with, who would become her Other Beloved. He had yet to receive a reply, but his faith was strong in Him. Isaac believed his loyalty and heart's desire would be rewarded.

Rosalyn set out deeper in the field. She was unaware of his intentions, who devotion belonging to Malachi despite his seemingly indifference to her. She knew he was good; less than a year from her coming of age, all she wished was that he would become her Other Beloved. She ignored the pair of intense eyes and pushed deep into the corn field, towards the outskirts where the concrete road lay. The basket resting on her hip was partially filled, mostly because the fields of Gatlin had been stripped. They never attempted the outskirts, Isaac said He forbade it.

Malachi was quiet, his footsteps light. He watched her push through, a knuckle white grip on her woven basket. He watched as she broke out onto the main road,, 21 miles west was Hemingford and 2 miles east was Gatlin.

She hummed softly, old tunes her father had played before Isaac and the Deliverance. Her fingertips brushed along the leaves of the tall stalks, stopping occasionally to pluck a husk and drop it into her basket. Her mind wandered; she thought about little Sarah and Job and wished for their conversion, not that she truly believed but for their survival. They were sweet but stubborn children and as they grew older, their rebellion seemed more apparent. Isaac would eventually lose his patience. She thought of Isaac and the lustful gaze she ignored, knowing he would eventually try to pass it off as His will.

She shuddered.

She thought of Malachi, a passionate boy growing into a broken man. She remembered the kiss they had shared. After the Outlanders had been sacrificed in His name, she found him sitting, leaned up against the barn wall, staring absently into the fields. She walked up, cautious, and laid a hand on his shoulder. She had always admired him and more recently realized that she loved him. He looked up at her and squatted down next to him. 'You did what was wanted by Him.'

He looked at her, his expression empty. She dropped in front of him, her legs curled up underneath her. Her hands lifted and rested on both sides of his face and she leaned in, letting her lips brush up against his own. His expression remained empty, his eyes darting back and forth between hers before grabbing the back of her head and kissing her back.

They had not kissed again since that night, but her devotion was undaunted. He was of age but He had not picked out an Other Beloved for him yet. She mussed over her ideas for a present for his eighteenth year. Gifts were not forbidden, but not condoled either. If given, it was kept to one's self.

The only other hinted affection from him had been in the beginning of her sixteenth year. Malachi had given her a locket he found amongst the Unmentionables and had polished back to its original gilded shine. She placed her hand on the bulge it caused under the collar of her dress. She was halfway through a flannel shirt, but wanted something more personal to give him.

Down the road she heard the simultaneous roars of Harley Davidsons. FLH 1200 Super Glide, 1970. Her father had worked on one for months, a gift for her brother's return from Vietnam. They received a letter declaring his MIA and the Deliverance fell through several days later. Her brother never came home.

The engines thunder dulled to a low rumble and then nothing. The man was large and bearded like his friends; he kicked the peg stand and swung a leg over, moving towards Rosalyn. 'What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all by yourself?'

She pulled the basket to her chest and stepped back to his step forward. 'I am gathering this year's harvest for my brothers and my sisters.'

He looked around, 'Any of them near by?'

She kept his gaze. 'Yes,' she lied.

He grinned. The other two men dismounted as well and began to crowd her. 'You have a boyfriend there, Miss Thing?'

She shook her head, her backside pressing up the wall of stalks of corn. 'Soon I will have an Other Beloved. I am not of age yet.'

'But your age is fine for other things,' he reached out and clamped down her arm. She tried to twist from his grasp, her basket tipped spilling corn heads onto the road. They surrounded her, pulling at her dress. There was the rip of fabric and she screamed. One doubled over, a knife buried into his back so deep there was no blade showing. They retreated from Rosalyn, pulling out their own switch blades, eyes darting around. Malachi moved out from the stalks and reached over to retrieve his knife.

The shock of the teenage murderer startled them for a moment; then the first one lunged at him, the other following pattern. A clash of blades and blows swapped, a deep throated scream, then an echo of another, left only Malachi standing, balance wavering, his knife red and held limply. She faced him, her mouth gaping for words. 'You're bleeding,' was all she managed.

He glanced down at his soaked shirt. 'It is their blood,' he gestured to the bodies.

She moved towards him, her hand resting on his stomach; Malachi flinched at her touch. Her fingers trailed a gash about four inches long but shallow. 'That is yours,' she dropped to her knees, tearing at her hem and blotting it gently. 'We must get you to AID,' her attention fell to another gash, deeper, on his left forearm.

He pulled Rosalyn to her feet. 'Tell Isaac of the Outlands. He will send others to dispose of them.' They began to move back through the field towards the clearing, Malachi leading.

'How fortunate I am that you managed to be so close by,' she called to him, raising her eyebrow.

He did not turn around. 'Yes. Fortunate.'

She stumbled and pitched pass him; he caught her around the waist, wincing in pain. Rosalyn spun around in his arms, his hands resting lightly on her hips. 'You okay? You strained yourself, didn't you? Let me fall, Malachi.'

His grip tightened, 'Rosalyn—'

'What has happened?' A voice cried out.

They tore apart and turned to see Rachel running towards them, her skirt hiked up her to her knees. 'Malachi! Are you bleeding?' She called over her shoulder, 'Someone, fetch Isaac! Malachi is hurt!' Thirteen year old James, a recent addition from a tourist family passing through, turned heel and ran towards the church.

Rosalyn looked at Malachi who stared unabashedly back. She swallowed hard and tore after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

'**O**utlanders?' Isaac repeated. 'So close?'

'Apparently they meant to cause harm to Rosalyn, but Malachi prevented that from happening,' Rachel finished, her cheeks warm.

'Rosalyn is fine then?'

Jealousy twisted her heart, 'Yes, Isaac. She is with Malachi now in the barn.'

'Send word to her,' he turned away, his gaze returning to the church's stained glass window of Jesus and a dove. The head had been smashed. 'I wish to speak to her.'

Her eyes trailed his backside and her face grew warm again. 'Yes, Isaac,' and left.

_Oh, Rachel_. Isaac sighed out loud. Devote. Head-strong. Faithful. She was a true believer, the kind of faith he wished Rosalyn would possess. She would be a suitable Other Beloved if he was not thoroughly convinced Rosalyn was meant to bore his heir. Her seventeenth was now five months away, and she would become of age and then his Other Beloved by command of He Who Walks Behind the Rows.

_I wish for Malachi to have Rachel when she becomes of agel._ Isaac's thoughts went to Him, a silent prayer. _It would be compatible._

'You wish to see me, Isaac?'

He looked over his shoulder to see Rosalyn, leaned up against the door frame. 'Yes, Rosalyn, come in.' Her steps were tentative. 'I heard of the incident; is Malachi well?' She nodded brusquely. 'You were on the outskirts, I've been informed. Rosalyn, they are forbidden for a reason, you understand?' She nodded again, her fists clenched and arms stiff at her sides, her eyes boring into the tips of her flats. 'Good, so you understand why you must be punished.'

Her head shot up, her mouth slightly opened. 'Punished?'

'Ten lashings,' he turned to face her fully. 'A reminder that this could have been avoided had you stay inland.'

'Isaac, I only meant to—'

He held up a small hand, a small smile on his small face. 'Excuses are never welcomed with Him, Rosalyn,' his voice low. 'It must be done.' He waved her away. 'It will be dealt out later, once I have seen Malachi.'

She left mutely, her soft footsteps echoed off the church's walls. He watched her leave. _Rosalyn is the one. If only she can rid herself of this bout of self reliance._

—

**T**he sun's rays stretched across Malachi's face. He squinted and rolled away, digging deeper into the quilts on the makeshift strew mattress. His arm and stomach still ached dully. He had been dreaming of Rosalyn, he had heard her screaming. He ran through the corn fields, trying to find her. Those screams still eachoed in his head.

He sat up in bed; the screams were clear now.

He looked out of the loft; strapped to a stake set in the ground, backside exposed, was Rosalyn. Jacob recoiled the whip and struck again. Her body arched forward, her screams shattering.

Wearing trousers only, he bounded to his feet and outside. He pushed through the crowd of children, not reaching her until the next strike. 'Stop!' He yelled, stepping in front a fraction too late. The tip bit into his shoulder but he was unfazed. 'What is this?' He asked the surrounding crowd.

He reeled on Jacob, who threw his hands in the air, dropping the whip. 'Isaac ordered it. He wanted to make an example out of her, punishment for going to the forbidden road.'

'I told her to go to the roads to gather corn,' he lied. Rosalyn's look was pleading, but he avoided it. Malachi unsheathed his knife and cut the ropes binding her wrists. She crumpled to the ground, gathering the front of her dress to chest. 'What is left?'

'Six more, Malachi.'

He tore off his shirt and turned to grab a hold of the stake. 'Finish.' Jacob hesitated. 'Finish!' Malachi yelled.

The first ripped through his fleshy backside; blood trickled down and stained the top of his jeans. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and upper lip. The second had more snap but left only a welt.

Back in the barn, Rosalyn soaked a rag in peroxide and dabbed lightly at the gashes, blowing softly to ease the stinging. 'Malachi,' she whispered, 'why are you such a martyr?'

He inhaled sharply threw clenched teeth. 'Rosalyn,' his voice was warning.

She stood up and walked to grab gauze and tape. 'Isaac will be angry,' her tone grew hushed. She walked back, sat at the edge of the bed, and began to rub ointment onto his back. 'What if he does something worse than a lashing?'

Malachi shuddered at her touch. He turned his head to look at her, 'Are you hurt?'

There was little left in the container and she used it all. 'Jacob does not have a strong arm. The second one did not even bleed.' She walked back to the shelves and this time he watched her; the back of her smock was soaked with blood.

She turned around to find Malachi on his feet. 'Hardly bleed,' his voice dry. 'Please,' he said, slowly turning her so he faced her back. His fingers flitted over the buttons. She tried to stop him, but he continued, firm but gentle. Four, deep gashes glowed brightly on her pale backside. 'Hand me that,' he pointed to another clean cloth. He wiped away the blood and then asked for a new bottle of ointment. His fingers light to the touch as they encircled the cuts. He took care bandaging them and then buttoned her dress back up.

She turned back to him, her face scarlet. 'Thank you.'

She watched him, her green eyes shone. His hand lifted, his fingers combed threw her hair down to the tip of a ringlet; he pinched his fingers together and tugged softly.

'Isaac wants to see you, Malachi,' they turned to see James standing in the loft doorway. 'Now.' He left.

He looked back at Rosalyn, his lips pressed together. 'Go,' he pushed her gently. 'Keep out of sight. I'll come find you.'

—

**S**he slipped out of the barn and in towards town. The house was empty, forbidden like everything else from the time before the Deliverance. It had been the children's home before Isaac came along. She would hide there with Sarah and Job, keeping watch while they played old school board games, hiding the drawings Sarah created with a leftover crayon set. They were sprawled out on the floor in their parent's old bed room, playing Operation. An old record player sang out with Sinatra, one of the only records still intact. 'Sarah!' Job cried. 'You can't tip the game over!'

'But I gotta get the stuff out without hitting the buzzer!' She protested, emptying the little plastic pieces onto the carpeted floor.

Rosalyn continued to sow on the buttons of the flannel shirt. Sarah abandoned the game and crawled into her lap. 'Is this for Jobby?'

Rosalyn smiled, 'No, for Malachi.'

Job made a face. 'Is he your boyfriend?'

'We don't have boyfriends, Job, we have Other Beloved picked out for us by Him.'

'I like Malachi now that he stopped being so mean,' Sarah played with the hem of her skirt. 'You made him nicer when you kissed him.'

Rosalyn froze. How did she know? 'I saw you behind the barn. I was playing hide and seek with Jobby and the twins.' Before Rosalyn could get the words out, Sarah said, 'We won't tell Isaac. He'll just get mad. Everything makes him mad. Cross out hearts and hope to die.' Job nodded enthusiastically. She gave a sigh of relief.

'I heard something,' Job said suddenly, his voice low. They threw the game and record player underneath the bed and she hurried them into the closet. She pushed them towards the back, the hanging clothes engulfing them, her breathing shallow and panicked.

The door opened and Malachi stood there, the left side of his face swollen and blue. She stepped out. 'Malachi!' She gasped, 'Who did—?'

'The hand of God,' he replied, his tone curt. 'Come, a sermon begins this half hour. It will be about loyalty,' he smirked. 'Everyone is to go to the clearing, you two included, Sarah and Job.'

They left the house together, the kids walking between Malachi and Rosalyn. She stole glances, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of his bruised face. Malachi stared straight ahead, his eyes never leaving what was in front of him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I have the original chapters rewritten. They will be posted promptly.

**Chapter III**

**T**he lashings had become infected. Malachi was laid stomach down, sweating with fever and shivering from chills. Rosalyn never left his side; she kept on clean gauze, dabbed his forehead with a cool rag, and fed him small bits of bread and soup. They slowly healed and scabbed over to the point where he could lay on his back. The fever stayed.

The fever raged; he hallucinated. Rosalyn was with child and He Who Walks Behind the Rows damned it. The child would one day slain Isaac and bring an end towards the jaded religion.

He saw his victims, the men and women he brought his knife too; they were lined up, faces contorted, screaming and screaming. His wounds enflamed, he felt what they felt. Pain. 'Mercy!' They screamed. 'Justice!' All the while he heard Isaac's voice, a stream of his sermons swen together as incoherent babble, droning on and on till the words lost their structure and it became a buzzing noise that vibrated his ears.

Then there was water. It poured from the cracks in the barn, filling up to the loft, pouring into the room. He was paralyzed, he could not run. It slowly engulfed him. He woke up, coughing and choking.

The fever finally broke and he looked to see Rosalyn curled up in a wicker chair, asleep. He pulled himself up and rested on his elbows, the crinkling of the straw mattress jolting her awake. 'Malachi?'

He pushed himself up and leaned back against the wall, 'Good morning, Rosalyn.'

She sighed softly, a smile played out on her pink lips. 'Isaac said it was your time. He said it was His will.'

'How long have I been out?'

'Four days,' she replied, getting up and pouring water for him. 'They have been praying for your salvation in the clearing.' Her voice hardened. 'They said just to _leave_ you! To let Him heal—'

His stomach twisted, 'Rosalyn.'

She handed him the cup, her eyes locking onto his. 'I really thought you were going to die, Malachi,' she wrung her hands. 'For a day you just stopped everything. You did not move, you did not breathe; you were gone.'

'Rosalyn.' He said a third time. 'I am here now,' his voice was softer. He reached over and grabbed her hands, pulling her down to the bed. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her up; she buried her head into his chest. He gave a brotherly kiss on the top of her head, 'It's okay now.' Her tears of relief left a wet spot on his shirt.

—

**O**nly two people noted Malachi's eighteenth year. Isaac was the first; he pulled her into the church's office. 'No blood has spelled out your name,' he said, his tone remorseful. 'In a year, you will go to Him.'

The ritual of the Other Beloved was decided by the blood of a sister. On the day of her coming to age, her wrist would be slit and the blood would be collected into a phial. A strand of hair was taken from each eligible brother and bound together with a thread. The hair would then be set on a silver platter and the phial emptied onto it. He Who Walks Behind the Rows would then spell out the name of the brother most suitable for her.

Once the Other Beloved was assigned, there was a small ceremony to untie them. They would then leave to go to the home of a wealthier Gatlin resident before the Deliverance. The rooms had been cleaned and restored and the couple would reside there till the sister became pregnant. In the child's fourth year, the parents would go to him.

Malachi's name had not been spelled.

That night, Rosalyn pulled him away. They walked to the outskirts of Gatlin, to the safety house. Despite the peeling paint and broken windows, it stilled seemed homey. The master bedroom had been cleared of the children's toys and she found clean linens in a hallway closet. Candles were lit and a cool breeze trickled threw the open windows.

They sat on the bed, cross legged and facing each. Between them lay two gifts with homemade wrapping paper, a mixture of old magazines and newspapers. The first was the flannel shirt, which he shed his old one in exchange for the clean one. The second gift was knife; the handle was prosthetic wood with tribal markings wrapped around. Engraved in it was an eagle on one side and a wolf on the other. He dropped his large hunting knife and sheathed the new one. 'Thank you.'

'One other thing,' she smiled, digging in a picnic basket. She pulled out two candy bars. 'It's all I could salvage from the vending machine.'

They ate them, talking and giggling and teasing. They sprawled out on the bed and exchanged secrets and stories before the Deliverance. For a moment, there was no Isaac or Him; they were normal teenagers of Gatlin enjoying a Saturday evening. They playful banter grew dark; he told her of the dreams he had for those four days. 'I lose my faith piece by piece, Malachi. I've grown to hate Isaac,' she said solemnly.

'I've thought of what the Outlanders said before He took them,' he rolled on his side, head propped up by his arm. 'What is religion without compassion?' He laid back and stared at the ceiling. 'I want to run to Hemingford and take a bus to Salt Lake City.' He turned his neck to look at her, 'I would want to take you with me.'

She hugged a pillow to her chest, her eyes searching his as her cheeks grew rosy. 'When I get out of here, I'm gonna take a long show and have a greasy burger with fries and a banana shake. Oh, and I'd burn a Bible.'

He laughed, 'You have beautiful eyes. I've wanted to say that for a long time.'

Her blush deepened. 'What do you want to fo when you get out of Gatlin?'

'Read. Vonnegut, Joyce, Kerouac, all of them. I've always wanted to be an author.'

Her eyes lit up, 'Mitchell! Rand! I hated that they were all burned.'

There was silence and then he leaned forward until his lips touched hers. She didn't let him pull away. He rolled on top, their kisses slowed with passion, their bodies grind in rhythm. Their clothes peeled off in layers, forming puddles on the floor. Their bodies molded together, an entanglement of arms and legs. Her nails bit into his back, she writhed underneath his weight, shy sighs slipping through her lips. His breathing was heavy, his body shuddered with pleasure. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. His fingers combed through her hair until her breathing slowed and she was asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

**T**hey woke with a start, the sunrise seeping through lace curtains and spilling onto the bed. 'Shit,' hissed Malachi, throwing aside the quilts. They staggered around the room, grabbing articles of clothing and throwing them on. They rushed out of Gatlin and back towards the barn only to be sidestepped by Rachel. Her eyes judged them, 'Isaac wants to see you both. Now.'

In the church, she stumbled for words, trying to piece together an excuse for their absence, Malachi interjecting with that He had asked of them a night of meditation and prayer. Isaac was not fully convinced, but was held off at the moment. He had eyes always watching, making it nearly impossible for them to steal a moment for themselves.

A Sunday afternoon when Isaac's sermon was finished, Rosalyn walked towards their makeshift town on the outskirts to gather linen for washing. A hand clasped onto her forearm and she was pulled behind the barn wall. Malachi's lips pressed hungrily onto hers; she finally twisted away, breathless and smiling. 'Malachi,' she whispered. 'We cannot do this here. If Isaac were to see us—'

'Impossible,' he replied, grabbing her arms and wrapping them around his neck. 'He hasn't the foggiest idea what is going on between us. We're too cautious.'

'This is careful?' She pulled away. 'It's midday!'

He jammed his fists into his pockets. 'I hate this,' he glanced over at her. 'Let's run away, Rosalyn.'

'I couldn't leave the children,' she balked.

'Let's take them with us!'

She sighed, 'Malachi—'

His eyes narrowed at her. 'You were so passionate about that thought not even a month ago. What has changed?'

'It's more complicated. You speak of us being cautious, well we were not cautious enough.' Her voice dropped, 'I'm pregnant.'

He fell back a step, his brow raised. 'Really? Are you positive?'

She nodded her heard, her face gaunt. She had torn through the town's only convenient shop left, digging through the overturned aisles looking for pregnancy tests. She had taken all six she had found, all positive. She prayed for her menstrual cycle; it was a week late. 'I do not even have an assigned Beloved. The ceremony is not for another month! What if I'm showing by then?'

'We have to leave.' He pressed closer. 'I want this,' he laid his palm onto her stomach. 'But I don't want this life for my child.'

'But…where will we go?'

'I have family in Salt Lake.'

'And they'll what?'

'They'll help us! I'll get a job, any shit job. We'll save every cent. We'll make it,' he grabbed her hands and held them in his own. 'Don't you think we can?'

Her mouth slacked, her mind racing, 'Yes. Yes we can do it, but is it—'

'We will wait, let Isaac lax his guard. I'm going to raid the town, comb through everything. There has to be cash stashed in some of these house. We'll lay low,' she nodded, her dark curls bobbing. 'We'll be fine. We'll get out of here. I spotted a jeep outside the Patterson's old home. We can siphon gas from the remaining vehicles in Gatlin.' He lifted her chin, his eyes locked onto hers. 'I promise you'll get out of here.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

Malachi was calm; he did not struggle against them. They dragged him to Isaac, pushing him forward towards the altar. His back was to them, hands crossed and feet shoulder length apart. 'I have heard things, Malachi,' his speech slow and deliberate. 'He Who Walks Behind the Rows has told me things.'

He turned around and waved off the others, leaving himself and Malachi alone. Sunlight streamed through the stain glasses window, sending brilliant colors dancing on the shag carpet that was matted with dirt and peeling up in the corners of the room. Malachi stared straight ahead, his eyes avoiding Isaac's ice stare. 'What things?' His voice was even.

Isaac stepped down from the platform and moved towards him. 'Anything you care to confess to?'

He felt cold, 'I don't understand what I am being accused of.'

Isaac's relaxed expression hardened. 'The Bible clearly states that fornication should be done between a man and woman who have taken vows of marriage.' He folded his hands in front of him, jealousy strangled his voice. 'I know she is expecting.'

Malachi did not speak. His heart slammed against his rib cage in a panicked rhythm, his palms slick with sweat.

'He knows, Malachi,' Isaac's voice broke. He turned away, wringing his hands. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, long, shaky breathes. His precious Rosalyn, his heart ached, tainted! James had caught them behind the barn. He said she was leaned up against the wall; Malachi had been kneeled down, his hand resting on her stomach, he claimed. The boy did not understand the gesture, but Isaac did. He told his congress of children to keep tabs on them, to tell him anything that they saw. He had his suspicions and tonight they were confirmed.

He would have the ceremony take place tonight, he decided. Now he had to battle with himself. Could he still accept her and the mistake growing in her stomach? Could he love her as his Other Beloved after she had been intimate with another? He smiled. He was sure He would give him Rosalyn and it would take time, but he would love her. 'The ceremony will take place tonight. This will be dealt with tomorrow.' He looked at Malachi. 'You used to be such a doting servant to Him, Malachi. What has changed, brother?'

It was rhetorical by his tone. Of course Malachi knew better than to launch into how his faith had become lackluster once they sacrificed the doctor and his wife to Him. For a slight moment he wished for normalcy, that he had never followed Isaac into the fields. To have a life without the horrified expressions of every man and woman and child he killed did not drift in and out of his dreams.

'After she gives birth she will be dealt with also.' Anger seared through him and Isaac continued, 'I am not a cruel kid, Malachi.' _You're not the only one who cares about Rosalyn._ He waved him to leave.

Malachi started to walk out. 'Stay away from her,' Isaac called to him, his tone warning.

'Where does this never ending patience come from, Isaac?' Rachel moved out of the shadows, up towards him. She fell to his knees. 'Why must you be so lenient?'

He reached towards her, his hand lightly touching her cheek, 'Dear sister, He gives me the strength needed to care for His congregation.'

Her hand fell on top of his and he helped her to his feet. She closed the gap between them, putting her mouth on his. For a moment, he lost himself, then his hands settled on his shoulders and he pushed her away. 'No, Rachel. We cannot do this again.'

'Oh, Isaac,' she cried. 'What we had—'

'Rachel,' his cold voice stopped her short. 'Please. Go to Rosalyn. Tonight will be her Other Beloved ceremony.'

She looked startled at the conversation's change, 'Yes, Isaac. Your every breath is my command.' She left.

—

**M**alachi ran. Tearing through the fields, corn husks whipping at him, he moved to the clearing where the girls were laying out the laundry to air dry. 'Rosalyn!' He called out. She looked up from folding a quilt. She saw the panic in his expression and got up to meet him.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the fields, out of the view of the confused sisters. 'Isaac knows.'

She paled, 'How?'

He ran a hand through his red locks, 'I'm not sure.'

'Should we leave?'

'We wouldn't make it. Every eye is on us now. Isaac is having your Beloved ceremony tonight. The night after that, that early morning, no matter where we are, we must go. We'll meet up by the Patterson's. Bring Job and Sarah. There is enough fuel in the jeep and then some.' She was numb and he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her. 'We'll be okay.'

—

'**W**hy are you so sad, Rosalyn?' Sarah asked.

She smiled at the little girl, 'I am not sad. I just want you to remember what I told you. Repeat it back to me.'

The child grew solemn and recited, 'Tomorrow morning, me and Job are supposed to wake up before the sun and go to Mr. Patterson's old house.'

'Yes, very good. Now go to the church. I have to finish getting ready.'

The little girl slipped out and was gone out of the sister house. Rosalyn lifted her head, inspecting her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her curls had been brushed out; Sarah had just finished placing baby's breath throughout her hair. She wore a simple creamed colored dress, trimmed in lace; her hands rested on her belly which had begun to stretch out the front ever so slightly. A small bouquet of lilacs tied together with a white ribbon rested on the bureau.

Word ripped through their small community that she was pregnant with Malachi's child. The ceremonies were usually small, just Isaac, the sister of age, and the eligible brothers; attendance was not necessary. Tonight the small church would be filled, all eyes watching, waiting for what He would do.

She made her way to the church, children filing inside, judgmental eyes stared. Inside, Isaac was at the front, his gaze filled with adoration at the sight of Rosalyn. She moved towards him, her face burning with mortification. She searched for Malachi; he was at the back of the church, leaned up against the wall.

Her wrist stung from when Rachel extracted the blood need from her wrist, a bruise forming around from her accidentally pressing too hard. Rosalyn stood off to the side and Isaac retrieved the phial. He opened it and the blood spilled and pooled around the hair of the brothers. An entity's finger seemed to press into it and began to write out a name; there was not enough blood to finish it fully but the beginning letters were sign enough: M A L A C.

Isaac's eyes widen but his aloof persona did not give way. Her heart crashed into her rib cage; Malachi craned his neck but could not see anything.

A long pause followed until Isaac found his voice. 'Malachi, come forward.'

Whispering wafted through the church. The illegitimate child would have both its parents after all.

_How could you have forsaken me?_

Malachi reached the altar and Rosalyn stood across from him, her smile weak. He took her hands into his own; they were moist.

'He Who Walks Behind the Rows,' his voice belted, hushing the church, 'has wished for the companionship of Malachi and Rosalyn. May this union be profitable to Him.'

'Praise God! Praise the Lord!' the children echoed, their voices meshed together and monotone.

_What am I to do now?_

'You may kiss now,' Isaac's voice was low.

They leaned in, their lips brushing lightly and then it became clear to Isaac, like a soft whisper in his ear.

_Kill Malachi._

'Go now, Beloveds, to the home provided for a night of consummation of this union.' The older children laughed quietly; Isaac's cold stare shushed them. 'There will be a breakfast banquet celebration tomorrow in the clearing. Until then.'

Their fingers enlaced and Malachi and Rosalyn walked out of the church in a daze. She looked up at him, 'What has just happened?' She breathed.

He shook his head incredulous, a smile spreading across his face. The children poured from the church, spreading out across the vacant parking lot; someone called out from behind them. 'It's Rachel,' Rosalyn whispered.

She caught up with the, breathless. 'Congratulations,' she said. She held out two silver rings. 'Isaac meant to give these to you. He also wanted me to give you a blessing.' She inhaled deeply. _Stall them_, his voice echoed in her head. 'Scripture.' They exchanged confused looks, but let her continue. '"Love is patient, love is kind.'"

—

**H**e had to be quick. Already in the master bedroom was a complimentary dinner set up. He found the bottle of wine, half empty from previous Beloveds, and uncorked it. His hand tilted and the powder of the crush pills spilled in, clumped at the top. He shook vigorously until it all had dissolved. Capping the bottle, he quietly slipped out the door.

—

**S**he spotted his silhouette slipping back into the church. '"…three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."' Rachel smiled at Malachi and gave Rosalyn a kiss on the cheek. 'Luck to you both!' And rushed off after him, leaving the newly Beloveds bewildered.

She met up with him in the office. 'Isaac!'

'You did well, my child,' he faced her, his hand reached for her and instead dropped onto the desk. She placed her hand on top of his and held it there. His eyes locked onto hers then pulled away, 'Rachel—'

'Isaac,' she tried again, her voice a whisper. 'That night we shared…'

'It cannot be,' he turned away. 'It is not His will.'

'Damn that!' Her fists clenched at her sides. 'Can it not be what you want for one moment?'

'What I want is another brother's Beloved.' He snapped.

She recoiled, his words a verbal slap to her face. 'Rosalyn,' she spit out her name as if it were poison. 'I don't understand what you see in her. She has been impregnated by another boy, Isaac. Let it be!'

'What we had that night was moment of weakness in our faith! It should never have happened.' He cried out. 'We are meant for others!'

'Then why wasn't your name spelled in her blood?' She squared off to him, her eyes narrowed onto his.

'It is meant to happen,' he said.

'Then what were we?'

'A mistake,' and he walked out of the room.


End file.
